


i read every story, and you're on every page

by andfinallywearehome



Category: Girl Meets World
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Autumn, Coffee Shops, F/F, Fluff, maya is a musician, riley is a barista
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 06:03:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13160793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andfinallywearehome/pseuds/andfinallywearehome
Summary: The material starts to pour out of her. Poems and songs and soliloquises, full of Riley; her face, her hair, her bubbly energy covers every page of Maya’s notepad, seeping into every single one of the stories written there, preserved in that moment forever.[or, the one where maya needs inspiration, and finds it in the cute girl working in the nearby coffee house]





	i read every story, and you're on every page

**Author's Note:**

> i'm new to this fandom, but this might be the sappiest thing i've ever written lmao
> 
> title comes from the song 'End of the Line', by tianna and the cliffhangers, and i own nothing recognisable.

It’s autumn, the leaves are falling from the trees, and Maya Hart is a woman that is running out of inspiration.  
  
It’s something that had to happen at some point. Every storyteller gets a mental block every once in a while, and that’s what her music is all about: telling stories. But she’s told all her stories for now; they've been weaved in and out of the songs from her early teenage years, the ones that document life with her mom, life _without_ her dad, those first fleeting thoughts that, perhaps, just maybe, she’s not as straight as she once thought. She needs new material, now that she’s a fully fledged college student, a musician trying to find her way in the world, and, really, she should be full of ideas, her imagination spilling over.  
  
And yet, here she is, with nothing.  
  
On this particular day, after an hour of staring at the blank page of her notepad open on the desk, she abandons her plan to stay in her room and power through, and instead heads towards her usual coffee shop haunt, a short trip away from her college dorm, a small place called Topanga’s. It’s a popular hangout for the other college kids, ones that she sees in between her classes, and it’s not hard to see why. Topanga’s is like a safe haven, a sanctuary.   
  
Lucas is manning the cash register, and he waves her over when he sees her lingering in the doorway.  
  
“Huckleberry,” she greets, nodding as she does. “How’s business?”  
  
“As always.” He raises an eyebrow. “Usual?”  
  
“Please.”  
  
Lucas sends the order through, and Maya pushes a couple of bills across the counter. She’s been in here enough times for everyone to know exactly how she takes her coffee, enough for people to begin making quips about how she should start paying rent if she wants to live here so bad. It’s an offer that, if made, she probably wouldn’t turn down. Her college dorm is all well and good, with a friendly roommate and quiet neighbours, but it’s hardly the best place to get the inspiration she’s craving, the one she needs in order to produce the music she loves. If it’s going to happen anywhere, Topanga’s is a good place to start.  
  
“How’s the music going?” Lucas asks casually, his back to her as he finishes preparing her drink.  
  
She snorts. “How do you _think_ it’s going?”  
  
“That bad, huh?” He slides the steaming caramel latte across the counter, and she takes a long gulp from it. “Anything I can do to help?”  
  
Maya pulls a face. “You got some spare inspiration, Ranger Rick? I’d sure love some of that.”  
  
“Guess I’m not inspiring enough, huh?” Lucas says, shaking his head with a small, amused smile.   
  
“Not quite,” Maya quips, and she takes to glancing around the coffee house as she continues to sip her drink. The place isn't as busy as usual, and it gives her more of an opportunity to examine all the other people present. One of them has to give her that inspiration. One of them has to have a story, something she can use, _anything_ -  
  
And then she sees her, across the far side of the room: long brown hair has swept out of the way of her heart-shaped face and secured into a bun, and wide dark eyes that seem to smile even though her lips are pressed into a thin line of concentration. Her brow is furrowed, in the most adorable way possible, as if she's trying to work out how she’s going to juggle all of the empty cups and not trip over her own two feet.  
  
Maya isn’t a sap (for the most part), but this girl might just be the most inspiring thing she’s ever seen.  
  
Lucas is watching her with a smile when she manages to drag her gaze away.  
  
“Who -?”  
  
“That’s Riley,” he says, before she can even finish her question. “She started working here, like, a week ago. Her parents owns this place.”  
  
“Riley.” She tastes the name on her tongue, trying it out. “ _Ri_ -ley. _Riilleeeyyyyy..._ ”  
  
“ _Maaaayyaaaaa_ ,” Lucas says, mimicking the same tone. She aims a punch on the arm across the counter.

 

+

  
  
She stops by almost every day for the next week.  
  
Maya hides in the corner, her favourite secluded spot by the bay window, and simply watches, her attention focusing down on one thing: Riley. Riley, interacting with the other customers, laughing at some awful joke Lucas had made as she passes by the cashier desk, sharing some kind of silent communication with Farkle, the other barista working the coffee machines. Riley, curling a strand of dark hair behind her ear as she contemplates, studying the world around her with her wide brown eyes and seeming to see good in everything.   
  
The material starts to pour out of her. Poems and songs and soliloquises, full of Riley; her face, her hair, her bubbly energy covers every page of Maya’s notepad, seeping into every single one of the stories written there, preserved in that moment forever.  
  
Maya’s scribbling on the back cover of this very notepad, a new verse or chorus that she doesn’t want to forget, when a steaming cup of coffee is placed on the table in front of her.  
  
“What’s this?” She asks, looking up at the barista - Zay, according to their name tag.  
  
“From the girl over there,” he says, nodding across the shop, and she follows his gaze, her eyes landing on none other than Riley herself. Riley, who gives her a smile and a small wave, barely more than a wiggle of her fingers, and Maya can’t help but smile in reply as she reaches for her coffee.  
  
Her caramel latte has never tasted so sweet.


End file.
